The Puritan Triangle
by Colorain
Summary: Proctor, Abby and Elizabeth in a prequel scene to "The Crucible"


Hi! I wrote a real _Crucible_ fanfiction! This was a school assignment, and I chose to write the scene where Elizabeth finds out Proctor and Abby are having an affair together. I personally think I cut part of it short, which I could work on if people wanted me too, but otherwise I think it fits in well. The characters do not belong to me; they belong to themselves as historical figures. I'm writing in the style of Arthur Miller's _The Crucible_, which I also make no claims as to owning. That said, enjoy!

Night, on the Proctor farm. The children are asleep. Elizabeth lies slumbering in her room. John is absent. A bright moon shines over the house, and a slight wind rustles the leaves in the trees. A quiet muttering of animals, a break in the peace draws our attention to the barn, where the door is left slightly open. Inside, Proctor's coat and shirt lie discarded on the floor, tiny bits of hay sticking to the well-worn fabric. A bit further inside, a shocking revelation: Abby's cap and shoes next to them. Our gaze, ripped to the inevitable conclusion we make, finds the pair lying on the hay. Abby's movements, at least, are passionate and fevered. Though we do not see Proctor's face, it is obvious he is not feeling the same emotions. His movements are tired, methodical, almost mechanical in their severity. The joining ends, Abby's fractured cry softened by the harsh press of Proctor's lips against her own.

The time is seven months prior to the outbreak of hysteria in Salem. Abigail Williams still works in the Proctor household. She is sullen and unhappy working; she sees Elizabeth as having no right to order her around. Elizabeth, on the other hand, is not happy with the quality of Abby's work and how often she neglects her chores. John Proctor is caught in the middle of this uneasy, unspoken hostility. In light of his wife's ailments following her recent childbirth, Proctor has spent more time outside in the fields, working. Abby has slipped out occasionally, watching him with a look of guarded infatuation on her face. For a few months Proctor has ignored this, almost bemused at the attention he is getting but not bringing it to the attention of Elizabeth. However, in recent weeks, things have been changing between the farmer and the niece of the pastor. An accidental brush against one another, a heated glance late into the night-all have added up to a culminating experience-what we have just witnessed. For Abby, it is almost an obsession-sent out to work, she reaches for what she cannot have-what society will not let her claim as her own. For Proctor, we see a frustration. One hesitates to say he had an unhappy marriage. In their years together, they have had several children. But since the birth of her newest child, Elizabeth has not been able to completely run her household. A somewhat submissive woman to begin with, Elizabeth lets her husband run the house. Though she does not yet know about Abby and John, she is a smart and observant woman and certainly has her suspicions.

__

It is a little more than a week after Abby and John's affair. Elizabeth is somewhat stronger, and sits down at the table in the living room, her hands cupped around a small mug of water. Her several children play around the house, their happy shouts trailing them wherever they go. She smiles, glad to hear them. From the right, Proctor comes in through the door, wiping the sweat and dirt off his brow. Seeing his wife, he drops his hat and frowns at her.

PROCTOR: How did you get down here?

ELIZABETH: I walked, John. The stairs are not so difficult this morning.

PROCTOR_, in a growling tone; nonetheless meant affectionately_: You should be in bed. That's what the doctor says.

ELIZABETH: No one knows my own body as well as I do, John. And it tells me I have a house to run.

PROCTOR_, moving to take a seat next to her_: We have Abby for a reason.

__

Elizabeth glances at her husband and sighs. Taking a sip of her water, she addresses him.

ELIZABETH: I know it. And she _is_ a help, when she's of a mind to be. But don't think I don't see how her mind wanders on warm days when she'd rather not be working.

__

Proctor guards his answer. He wishes to give nothing up to what_ Abby's mind wanders to._

PROCTOR: Any young girl might have her mind wander. I do not doubt that yours did when you were a youth; am I wrong?

ELIZABETH_, smiling_: Nay, you are right. But I learned my purpose even before I married you, John. I knew I had to become an adult and leave childish fancies behind. Abby needs to do that. It's her time to become a woman of the community. She needs to learn what she is to do, and we are to teach it to her.

__

Proctor sighs, a long one that gives no indication to the double meaning that his wife's innocent words have.

PROCTOR: I'll talk to her, if it please you.

ELIZABETH: I think it shall. Go find her-perhaps she has made you a supper.

__

Proctor stands, bending briefly to plant a light kiss on Elizabeth's cheek. She smiles, a bit more tightly, then waves her hand at him so he will go. Grabbing his hat and smashing it on his head, he strides to the door, shouting "Abby!" The scene switches to outside, where Abby is sitting underneath the shade of a tree, almost but not quite out of the view of the house. 

ABBY: John! _She is pleased to see him. He drops to one knee beside her, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree._

PROCTOR: Elizabeth wants me to talk to you, Abby.

ABBY_, guarded now that Elizabeth's name has come up_: Why? What else have I done wrong?

__

There is the air about this of a conversation held several times.

PROCTOR: She feels you daydream too often.

ABBY: I cannot please her, John! You know it!

PROCTOR_, quietly_: Aye, you cannot. But you can try.

__

Abby is silent, obviously thinking. 

ABBY: She does not know. _It is a statement, not a question._

PROCTOR: I doubt it. But do not underestimate my wife. She will find out.

__

Abby looks at Proctor fiercely. 

ABBY: You will not tell her. I can't stand losing you, John!

PROCTOR_, musing, half-listening to her_: Perhaps it would be for the best.

ABBY_, in a panic_: No, John, you cannot! I love you!

PROCTOR_, casting about his eyes, desperately trying not to meet her fearful gaze_: Perhaps it is better if you not call me John anymore.

ABBY: John! _She is frightened. She grabs Proctor's sleeve to stop him from getting up. He halts his ascent, and she pulls herself up to meet him. Desperately, she throws her arm around his neck, tugging his head down to reach hers. She presses her lips to his in a kiss meant to discover his true feelings for her, her eyes casting wildly about his face. Though he shuts his eyes and does not look at her, he also does not break the kiss immediately; while not responding, he also does not discourage. It is a mark we are to find a character trait of the man—not quite sure how to respond. With evident reluctance, he pushes her roughly away. She is crying and wipes her tears away with red palms, peeling from work. He turns on his heel and motions for her to follow him. They walk back to the house, Proctor irritated and Abby strangely subdued. They enter the house to find Elizabeth still sitting at the table._

PROCTOR: Go make supper, Abby.

ABBY: Aye, sir. _She exits the stage._

ELIZABETH: You were gone a while, John. 

PROCTOR_, not quite defensive but certainly on guard_: She needed to be talked to.

__

Silence. Neither knows quite what to say. Elizabeth, hesitantly, knowing she is about to forever alter the course of her marriage, speaks quietly.

ELIZABETH: Where be you late at night, John?

__

Proctor sucks in breath, a shuddery, broken one that belies his calm exterior. Here lies the quandary: lie, or tell the truth? To lie is to break the trust he has built with his wife; to tell the truth is to do the same. He looks up into her eyes. She looks back. The shouts of their children come from offstage. She will not press him, and he knows it. Any decision he makes is his own.

PROCTOR: I think you know, Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH_, her eyes snapping shut and face turning down_: With her.

PROCTOR_, quietly, defeated_: With her.

__

Neither speaks for many minutes. A fragile line has been crossed, and what has been said cannot be taken back. Elizabeth still grips her water mug; Proctor holds his hat. The sky turns a slight gold, the sun slowly falling from the sky. Wind whips though the trees, rattling the leaves like bones. The death of the day is imminent. 

ELIZABETH: I cannot judge you, John. You are my husband, and God knows I have not the right to judge you. _Bitter this time, a touch of her anger creeping out_: Did you lure her into your bed, or she into hers?

PROCTOR: It isn't as simple as that, Elizabeth. You know that.

ELIZABETH: Have you tired of me, John? Does my skin sag too much with age; am I no longer as youthful as you would like?

PROCTOR: That's not it—

ELIZABETH—_her voice raised to a higher pitch_: What is it then! What makes you turn from me so cruelly, John?

__

Proctor looks at her. He is torn.

PROCTOR: I am only a man. Even God would have difficulty resisting that temptress.

ELIZABETH: She will not stay another day in this house. _She is firm._

PROCTOR: Elizabeth—

ELIZABETH: Do not argue with me, John. This is my house, and I will not keep her here. She deserves none of my charity.

PROCTOR_, quietly_: And what of me, Elizabeth? What will you do with me?

ELIZABETH: I will keep you, God forgive me. I will keep you because you are a good husband and a fine father and I will not let this shame our name. We do not have the name of Rebecca Nurse, but it is pure enough. You will not talk of it, John. It will never be spoken of. Now take her, John. Take her back to Reverend Parris tonight.

PROCTOR: I will. _He turns to her before going to find Abby. His words are strained, almost false in the cool night air. _I love you, Elizabeth.

__

She does not turn to look at him, makes no indication she has heard him.

ELIZABETH: Go.

__

He exits the stage, presumably to get Abby. The sun has left the sky, and no candles illuminate the room. From the glitter of the rising moon as Elizabeth sits, watching it, we see a single tear track its way down her face as

THE CURTAIN FALLS


End file.
